Super Keeper
by TolkienScholar
Summary: Finn, Amanda, Jess, Maybeck, Charlene, Willa, and Philby join the group at Sky High with superpowers of their own. But what happens when Disney villains start joining the ranks of the supervillains?
1. Power Placement

**Attempting to pick this one back up; I haven't updated it because I lost some of what I had written when my computer crashed recently. This is... basically the result of liking two (admittedly somewhat cheesy) Disney-related stories about exceptional groups of kids. There will be several ships, some explored in more detail and some in less. The conventional ships are WillxLayla, FinnxAmanda, and PhilbyxWilla. My own ships are WarrenxJess and MaybeckxMaj.**

**Ridley Pearson owns the Kingdom Keepers and Disney owns Sky High and all the other Disney characters.**

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><p>Chapter 1<br>Power Placement

_Aren't we a motley crew?_

Charlene looked over the group of kids crowded around the gym platform. They were a fair mix of guys and girls, maybe a little heavy on the girl side. A pity. From where Charlene was standing, she could see, at an offhand guess, kids of at least six different races. As for clothes, the styles ranged from preppy to hippie, with everything in between. And the thing that would set them apart the most hadn't even been revealed yet.

One thing they all had in common, though: they were terrified. The beat of their quick, shallow breathing felt something like heart palpitations; they would all hyperventilate in a minute.

Principal Powers was still giving her "new student speech." Charlene's mother had recited it word for word for her this morning over breakfast, and in the midst of this sweaty-palmed, breathless group of kids, it was all Charlene could do not to laugh. The welcome speech was exactly as her mom had acted it, every smile, every dramatic pause, in just the right place.

Charlene had been given the rundown before school this morning, with input from both of her parents. She knew exactly what to expect, and in what order. Power placement would be no big deal. Charlene had been born into a family of super athletes, and in due time had gotten her own athletic power—she could climb anything, however steep, however sheer. Anyone with a power like that was guaranteed a place as a hero, and all this standing around was just a waste of time. She felt a little sorry for the others, though, waiting and trying to guess where they were going to end up. Maybe some of them already knew, but by the look of things, not many.

And, there went Principal Powers in her fancy comet. A little smile crossed Charlene's lips. Yeah, it was cool, but she didn't find it nearly as intimidating as everyone said it was. Her mom, whose heroine name actually was Comet, was just about as fast.

Enter Coach Boomer, a.k.a. "Sonic Boom." A minor superhero with a major power and an ego to match, according to her parents. Jealous of the Commander (not that most superheroes weren't). Speaking of which, the Commander's son was supposed to be around here somewhere; it had been big news in the superhero community that Will Stronghold was starting at Sky High this year. Charlene looked around while she waited for Coach Boomer to finish his own first day speech. She wouldn't know Will Stronghold by sight, but she saw a couple likely candidates, one of them _extremely_ cute. She'd have to keep an eye on that one.

Charlene reluctantly took her eyes off the cute guy as Coach Boomer selected his first victim. "You! What's your name?"

All eyes turned to the redheaded boy with the glasses standing near the back. The boy pointed at himself, the word "Me?" catching in his throat. Finally he stammered out, "L-Larry."

"Little Larry," Coach Boomer said, pulling his lips into a mocking frown. "Get up here."

Trembling, Larry stumbled toward the platform. Charlene overheard a girl whisper, "What's humiliating him in front of everyone going to prove? This is _so_ unfair."

Up on the stage, Larry took off his glasses, his hands shaking visibly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, scrunching up his face in concentration. Suddenly, Larry's skin turned a hard, dark grey, and he grew to three times his height. His impeccable collared shirt and tan sweater vanished into hard muscled rock. Gasps came from the crowd of students. Coach Boomer's expression did not change. "Car!"

A beat-up race car dropped from the ceiling over Larry's head. Larry's arms shot up and caught it, effortlessly shoving it back up into the ceiling. Metal crunched. "Big Larry," Coach Boomer said approvingly, scratching something onto his clipboard. "Hero."

Charlene shook her head. Blunt force. _That_ had never been one of the powers in her family on either side, for which she was very glad. Brainless brute strength had never been the way they operated. It meant nothing, ultimately, except maybe getting your picture put on cereal boxes for everybody to gawk at.

Larry deflated like a balloon as he stumbled off the stage, blind with relief. Before he had reached the bottom step, he was flung aside as a gangly blond kid charged up the stairs and skidded to a stop in front of Coach Boomer.

"Did I say you were next?" the coach demanded.

"Zach Braun, sir, otherwise known as _Zach Attack_."

A few kids giggled.

"Just try not to drop your clipboard, coach."

Zach Braun, otherwise known as Zach Attack, took a deep breath, shook out his arms, and clapped his hands. He spread his hands wide, tipping his head back to the ceiling as though he felt power surging through him. Several girls gasped. They waited.

Nothing happened.

"Any day now, superstar," Coach Boomer drawled. One foot tapped against the floor.

"I'm doing it," said Zach in an awe-stricken voice.

"Doin' what?"

"I'm glowing."

"I don't think so." Coach Boomer brought out his clipboard.

"Well, it's—easier to see in a dark room—maybe we could turn off these lights—you could cup your hands around your eyes and look real close—"

"Side-kick," the coach growled.

Zach's shoulders drooped, and he slouched down the steps.

Charlene was torn between sympathy and a desire to laugh. Poor Zach. Years ago, there had been a heroine called Migraine, who had been able to make her entire body into a brilliant flash that would blind her enemies; but a light as weak as Zach's was almost useless.

"Hey, hippie girl, it's your turn."

A dark-haired girl—Asian, or possibly Native American—walked toward the stage. She had a couple of feathers in her hair even though that had gone out of style months ago, but otherwise, Charlene didn't see much justification in calling her a hippie. Now, the girl all in purple, _she_ looked like a hippie.

"Name?" Coach Boomer demanded.

The girl turned her hooded eyes on him. "Willa."

The coach looked down at his clipboard and shook his head. "Your real name."

Willa glared. "Isabella Angelo," she said in a clear voice that rang out all over the gym.

"Power u—" Coach Boomer trailed off. Isabella—Willa—had vanished. "Invisibility. Impressive."

"Try again." Willa was back, hands on her hips, head cocked mockingly to one side.

Coach Boomer frowned. "Teleportation."

"Nope." Willa licked her lips, as if in anticipation. "How about this? One eight five seven nine three zero."

Boomer's eyes popped.

"No? Haven't got it yet?" Willa smirked. "Luca Greening just sent you a text message; it seems she won't be able to meet you at Red Robin tonight. She has other plans." Willa winked. "I would too, if my boyfriend took me to Red Robin for a date."

The freshman class exploded into laughter. Willa's laugh was the loudest, and the most sinister. "Oh, and just so you know, your phone gets really lousy service in here."

Coach Boomer looked ready to pound her into the floor while she stood there laughing at him. His face was boiling red, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"Come on, let's hear it. Come on." Her eyes dared him.

"Hero," Boomer muttered scratching on his clipboard.

Willa smiled and left the stage to a round of applause.

The next few kids turned out to be sidekicks. Small wonder, with the mood Willa had put Boomer in. Charlene couldn't wait to tell her parents about today; they would love to hear how Sonic Boom had been humiliated in front of a group of freshmen. It was tough luck for the kids who came after Willa, though: a black kid named Ethan who could melt into a puddle, a girl who performed a magnificent back flip only to land as a large beach ball, which Boomer kicked off the stage. Now there was a black guy climbing the steps, a guy who cut a singularly cool—and cute—figure in the reflective sunglasses he still hadn't taken off. He was another one Charlene wanted to keep an eye on.

"Name?" the coach barked.

"The name is Maybeck," the guy answered, giving out the name as though it were a gift to mankind. "Terrence Maybeck. Not Terry."

Very full of himself, this one, Charlene observed. They were often the most fun when they were that way.

"Let's see your power, Terrence Maybeck," Boomer said, pronouncing each syllable.

Maybeck's eyebrows rose above the top of the reflective sunglasses. "That might take a bit, Boomer."

Coach Boomer's complexion turned a slightly more livid shade of purple. "And why is that, _Mister_ Maybeck?"

"Nothing worth doing is ever done fast."

"Is that so? It is when _I_ say so, _Mister_ Maybeck." The coach lashed out and snatched Maybeck's sunglasses off his face. Maybeck's dark brown eyes looked calmly at him, unperturbed.

"My power is—unique. You see, it only works when I'm asleep." Maybeck's voice sounded almost sleepy as he said this, his eyes narrowing to slits like those of a snake. "When I'm asleep, I teleport to wherever I want as a partially solid projection. Solid enough to fight, not solid enough to be hurt." Maybeck watched the coach to see how he would take this. The rest of the class watched, too, fascinated.

Coach Boomer put his hands on his hips. "Let me get this straight. You have to be _asleep_ to power up?" The coach leaned his face in close to Maybeck's. "I hate to break it to you, kid. Sidekick."

"Sidekick? _Sidekick?_" The cool mask slipped, but only for a moment. Then, with an arrogant jut of his chin, Maybeck said simply, "We'll see."

Coach Boomer rolled his eyes. He had just effectually destroyed Maybeck's aura of "coolness," and he seemed terribly pleased with himself. Maybeck was trying very hard to act as though he did not care. Charlene wasn't in the least convinced.

The next girl Boomer called up was also of another nationality, but this one Charlene didn't recognize. Polynesian perhaps, or something equally unusual—it was impossible to say. Charlene hadn't noticed her before, probably because she had been standing next to the cute boy who might have been Will Stronghold. Charlene took an immediate dislike to the girl, though she couldn't have said exactly why.

"Amanda Lockhart," the girl said, lifting her chin.

Boomer looked down at his list and nodded. "All right, girl, power up."

Amanda stared at him for a long moment, her expression difficult to read. Was it dislike—disgust—perhaps? Or simply careful consideration?

Whatever Amanda was considering, she must have decided against it. She turned away from Boomer and looked around the room, as though she were seeking a target. Charlene glanced around as well. The gym was empty except for the platform, the coach, and the students. What was she looking for?

Finally, Amanda's eyes settled on Charlene. This time, there was no mistaking her expression. Amanda had taken as immediate a dislike to Charlene as Charlene had to her, and, without knowing how she knew, Charlene realized she had become Amanda's target. _Target for what?_

Then Charlene felt something pushing against her. There was nothing in front of her, nothing touching her, but something was slowly forcing her backwards, as though she were walking into a mighty wind. She glared up at Amanda, standing with her arms outstretched, pushing her. Charlene tried to push back, but the wind was too strong; she couldn't fight it.

"All right, enough," Boomer said. The force stopped. "Not bad. Car!"

The car fell. Amanda pushed, and it slowly moved upward. Boomer nodded. "Hero."

Amanda tossed him another enigmatic glance as she descended the steps.

"Purple kid! Let's go."

It was the girl who really did look like a hippie. There was attitude in her every step as she walked toward the stage, wobbling slightly in her high heeled black boots. Her hair was twisted up into two buns on top of her head, most of it black, some of it dyed purple; and she was wearing at least three shirts. There was something resembling a dog collar around her neck. She stood there with her head on one side, an expression of extreme annoyance on her face. "Magenta Xavier. I'm a shapeshifter."

"Okay. Shift it."

Magenta rolled her eyes and got down onto her hands and knees. At once she began to shrink until Charlene could no longer see her from where she was standing.

Coach Boomer bent down. "A _guinea pig_?"

"Yep," said a high-pitched voice.

"Not even a _swarm_ of guinea pigs?"

"Uh, no."

"_Side_-kick. Shoo."

Amid the laughter of the other students, Magenta crawled away, slowly reverting to her natural form. Her swaggering walk had lost none of its attitude; unlike Maybeck, it would have been easy to believe that she didn't care at all that she'd been put in the sidekick class. _This girl's got guts,_ Charlene thought.

"You! Flower child! Let's go."

The girl Boomer was pointing at was the one who had whispered, "This is so unfair." Charlene got ready for fireworks. Coach Boomer had a tough crowd this morning. This one wasn't going to cooperate either, Charlene was sure.

"I—I believe in only using my powers when the situation demands it."

"Well, you're in luck. This is the situation, and I'm demanding it."

"But, to participate in this test would be to support a flawed system. I think the whole hero-sidekick dichotomy only serves to—"

The coach cut her off. "Let me get this straight. Are you refusing to show me your power?"

"Well, it's more complicated than that; I mean—"

"SIDEKICK!"

For the first time, the freshmen got a taste of Sonic Boom's Power. Visible sound waves came from his vocal chords, blowing against them like a strong wind. Windows around the gym shattered.

Only the girl in green seemed unperturbed, even satisfied.

"We'll continue after lunch, _starting_ with you!"

The boy Boomer was pointing at—the less-cute Will Stronghold possibility—looked positively terrified.


	2. Sharp Definition

Chapter 2  
>Sharp Definition<p>

Jess watched as the life in the cafeteria swirled around her. She often saw things in slow motion, images trailing behind people after they had already moved on, sound muted and far away. It was all irrelevant to her, the bustle of the cafeteria. She was in the midst of it but not part of it. She guided food onto her plate without fully realizing what it was and wandered down an aisle. People would wonder how she navigated with her eyes half closed; a couple of them would stick out their legs to trip her. She saw it all coming before they moved and glided lightly out of the way.

Faces stood out in sharp definition amid the swirling sea. That one was a bully only because he was insecure about his weight. That one was in love with her best friend, and he had no idea. That one was lonely, achingly lonely, but he would never let anyone see it.

She stopped. Her tray touched down on the table so gently that it made no sound, and she slid silently onto the bench. She did not look at the person across from her.

"No one sits at my table."

The growled words came through sharply, clearly. Jess did not look up. She let them float over her like the irrelevant gossip of the rest of the room. This, though, was not irrelevant. She did not know why.

"Listen, white-haired girl. This is my table. Move."

Jess finally looked up. She met smoldering black eyes set in a dark, brooding face. "Why?"

She watched his face as he processed that one word. Jess often found it to her advantage to play the ditz. It was easy; most people assumed she was anyway. But this boy saw through it. She had known all along that he would.

"Are you really sure you want to fight this battle?" He flicked a finger, and a tiny tongue of flame flared up on the tip of it. It was a warning. A threat.

"I don't need to fight," she answered. Her sister Amanda appeared at that moment and sat down next to her. Jess caught her wary look.

For a fraction of a second, the boy sat, motionless. The he picked up what remained of his lunch and left the cafeteria.

Jess smiled.

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><p>Warren wondered what had made him move. He had emptied his tray and left the cafeteria before he had time to think about what he was doing; but he had plenty of time to think now, with at least a quarter of an hour left until geometry. Most kids went outside if they got done with lunch early. Warren preferred to wander the halls.<p>

What was the point of all that? He had never seen that girl before in his life. Was it the first time anyone had tried to sit at his table? No. The third time, if he remembered rightly. He had little to compare her behavior to, but it had not been normal. That much he knew.

Was it because she had felt sorry for him, sitting alone? He didn't think so. Someone had tried to sit with him before for that reason. She-why was it always a she?-had been staring at him, chattering nervously, breathlessly. The white-haired girl hadn't even looked at him, had pretended not to hear what he'd said. She hadn't started in with all the usual prying, nosy, "get-to-know-you" questions. No, if she was trying to be friendly, she had an odd way of going about it.

Was she oblivious? Had she not noticed how everyone else was carefully avoiding his table? Maybe. He had thought so at first. He had even briefly entertained the idea that she might be deaf. But that question: "Why?" She had been trying to play the ditz. She wasn't a ditz. She'd known perfectly well what she was doing.

_I don't need to fight._

Why not? Because she had known he would get up and move? How could she? He hadn't even known until it was already done.

And why had he left? Why hadn't he frightened her off, even burned her a little if he had to?

Warren kept coming up empty. Too many questions, no answers. Not for how she had acted. Not for how he had. It was too complicated. And he wasn't even sure he wanted to know.


End file.
